Pushing Through the Storm

As the end of the year is near, I decided to make one last reflection on a storm-filled journey that felt like an emotional rollercoaster. I eventually decided to move despite the pain, and discovered that most of it was self-inflicted.

I've never been comfortable around noise.

Literally any noise. As a child I would curl up in a corner every time I heard those dreadful dial-up internet routers coming to life at random hours. Even white noise machines designed to help me sleep kept me on edge.

Same in social settings. Every interaction felt like a confrontation. Like I had to constantly justify my existence to the people around me, including in my inner circles.

Needless to say, I didn’t feel made for the world.

Or at least, that's what I told myself. That the world was too loud, too demanding, too much. That I needed to find a way to exist on my own terms, away from all the noise and expectations.

This reflected in my behavior and my socialization. I held everything to myself, stayed aside, and didn't follow the path everyone expected of me.

I didn't show any sign of progress.

So I made a decision: if I couldn't change the world, I would remove myself from it.

For so long, I aimed to make my life as quiet as possible. If I had to endure the deafening uproar of the outside world, I needed to build myself a soundproof place, safe from external agitation.

A shelter to face the storm.

In my withdrawal, I started to build one, made of odds and ends I learned from random observation. It didn't look like much, but it eventually got done. Small enough to avoid being noticed, but comfortable enough to stay in as long as the storm would last.

I spend a lot of time in there, comforting myself by thinking I did the right thing. It was a place of my own, where nothing would be expected of me. Outside, I would watch the storm grow in intensity, louder and more violent every day. Definitely not a time to be outside.

So I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

For the moment to finally step out of there and move forward.

But the storm never stopped.

Eventually, my impatience started to grow. Then I began to notice something apart from the chaos.

The landscape had changed so much I couldn’t recognized anything.

But the most staggering part is that I saw people. Outside. Facing the storm as if they didn’t notice it. 

Everyone seemed to be moving forward, while I was stuck there, comfortable, but still.

My mind started to spiral. I knew I had to do something about it, but the idea of stepping out and confronting the storm was too frightening.

So I stayed. Days blurred into weeks. I paced around like a caged dog, wearing paths in the floor, my shelter feeling smaller with each lap.

Outside, the storm started to captivate me. It looked almost desirable now.

I needed to get out.

One morning, I walked to the door. Slowly this time. I reached for the knob, wrapped my fingers around the cold metal, and pulled.

The door opened.

I stood there, staring at the gap I'd created, not quite believing it. I hadn't pushed. I hadn't thrown my weight against it or fought with the lock.

I had just pulled.

Such a tiny gesture. An insignificant movement of the hand. But standing there in that doorway, it meant everything.

You Can't Stop the Storm, Only Weather It

The door was never locked. Nobody was holding it shut from the other side. No external force was keeping me trapped.

If I felt stuck all this time, it was because of my own doing. I was the one who kept myself locked in.

I let that sink in. Really sink in. The weight of all those years spent waiting, and the simplicity of what it took to leave.

Then I took a breath, put one foot outside, and popped my head out to risk a glance at what I'd been hiding from.

The storm was still intense. The wind didn't stop to welcome me, it howled. The rain didn't stop, it stung.

But somehow, none of this mattered to me anymore. I was out. I was finally ready to give up this shelter that had welcomed me for all those years. The shelter that made me think if I just stayed there long enough, I could wait out the storm.

But as I moved away from it, I realized something simple, something freeing:

The storm doesn't stop. It never does.

It visits everyone. And if it hurts more sometimes, it's because I let it decide how I should feel.

Now, I walk through it. I'm soaked, yes. A little cold, often. But my head is up, and my heart beats steady.

The storm isn't my enemy anymore. It's just what being alive feels like.

I can't stop the wind.

But I can keep moving.

And for the first time, that’s enough.

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